Plight of the Leftover Cookies: The Gingerbread Man That Got Away

‘Twas the third of January and all through the school district, students shuffled down the halls. Break is over and school is back in full swing. These kids want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and reminisce about that stress-free second they achieved after finishing all of their over-break homework and studying. But here they are, slogging into their classes. The bell rang once, twice, and teachers snapped to attention. Class began normally, and the dread of the future once again weighed down backpacks and souls. 

It began in third period lunch, they say. A student, hoping to savor a last bit of peace, had brought a gingerbread cookie to school to eat during lunch. It must have been the magic of the fluorescent lights that struck the cookie because before the student could take a bite, the gingerbread man found new life. He sprung up and began his noble chase to freedom. The student to whom the Gingerbread Man belonged felt a spark light in their darkened heart, and started to chase after the Gingerbread Man. Their friends followed, and before you could yell “You can’t catch me!” both cafeterias had joined the parade. The rampage attracted the attention of students all throughout the school as the Gingerbread Man raced through the halls. His swift little feet were powered by the growing mass of students behind him. Whether they were trying to catch him, follow him, or stop him from getting caught is unknown. But at last, after the valiant Gingerbread Man had made it past every classroom and attracted almost every single student to his cause, he found himself at a dead end. The main gym entrance sat in front of him, guarded closely by none other than the cafeteria ladies. They were hungry for some gingerbread. Terrified, the Gingerbread Man turned to run, but was met by the J-DHS student population, all cheering him on. If one could make it out, they all could make it out.

He rose shakily to his two gingerbread feet, his gumdrop buttons shimmered in those magical fluorescents, and the mighty Gingerbread Man made a run for it. He twisted, turned, and slid along the floor. He slammed into the doors and used a spoon as leverage to push them open. He made it out, they say, but not before sacrificing his right arm. 

Filled with new courage, each and every student brought cookies to school the next day. The fluorescents must have lost their magic because all these cookies have done is get eaten. Nonetheless, the Gingerbread Man that got away will go down in history. 

Asparagus Fern
Asparagus Fern (born 1236 BCE) was a war correspondent stationed in Clipperton Island (a strip of sand off the coast of Mexico) during the Vietnam War. They have since retired and now write for Yampage to “relive the glory days.” Asparagus Fern has been married 700 years to the saguaro cactus Udderly Zucchini. The couple has had quite a lot of plant babies, including the many Christmas trees of Rockefeller Center and Groot. In their spare time, Asparagus Fern enjoys breathing underwater and taming dragons. They play bridge every Wednesday with the local crazy cat ladies. Fern lives near Spiky Olivia, wherever that might be, and refuses to comment if they like asparagus or not. For watering information, contact Paloma Arena (‘25).